Oh, sunny days and carefree ways: desperately narrow whose view…
To slumber they’ve gone, to sleep, to a future without a clue.
Green pastures, my masters, spirits and feasts long silent and dark,
Still a flame, a spark, matches, coals, companions and a lark
Spur me on, to persist, subsist, enlist, not resist or desist,
But tie myself to the mast of winter’s ship; weather the storm, the norm
Of slow, dull life, full of cold colorless midnights and stark sun blindness.
For, inevitably time and unwinding procedure will result in ineffable wonder
When due days arrive and I strive to milk the magic of misery torn asunder.
Spring signs, by designs, will renew; the rigid bonds of winter will unglue.
Players report, activity wrestles to life, the sun burns and everyone learns
Once again the pleasures of the new year; we shed fear and the now becomes dear.
So tie thyself to the mast, my friend, suffer it willingly and happy to know
It is the march of death that guarantees a new baseball season is all aglow.
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